


A Surreptitious Infestation of Felines

by neela (toadsage)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cats, Fluff, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toadsage/pseuds/neela
Summary: Burr's cat doesn't listen to him. Burr's best friend is possibly trying to kill him slowly with cactuses. (Cacti?) Burr just wants to sit down.





	A Surreptitious Infestation of Felines

Burr’s accumulated a growing collection of potted plants in his home over the past year. It started with small cacti and succulents, plants that cost a couple dollars and required little effort at all. He kept them on his desk, and later, when his desk was getting too cluttered, the collection started growing on his windowsills and kitchen table. 

 

Once Hamilton was sufficiently satisfied that Burr hadn’t thrown them away, he started gifting Burr bigger plants. Little herb pots, because Hamilton knows Burr prizes functionality above else, but then a small bonsai tree and an large orchid, because Hamilton also knows Burr has a taste for the oriental. 

 

Originally, the plants were left unnamed, but when Hamilton found that out, as well, he began to write the names of each one on their pots in gold sharpie ink, so Burr was stuck with them. Most of the names he thought were childish or silly, but the bonsai was named Hobbes and Burr could live with that, even though it was probably named after the children’s comic strip and not the 17th century English philosopher. 

 

The arrival of the plants, really, should have set Burr up for the arrival of something more substantial. It comes, of course, in the form of a cat. Burr, who has never owned any animal before, is suddenly responsible for a large, fluffy, white  _ creature  _ that purrs like a sports car and demands food and affection. Burr’s being  _ blackmailed  _ with his furniture as collateral. 

 

Either this is a very, very clever plot to take Burr out of the running for partner, or Hamilton has an even more dastardly plan that Burr cannot fathom. 

 

The cat is named Juliet, and at least it is not something insipid like  _ Snowball  _ or  _ Mr. Fluffington,  _ like Sally suggested. Burr thanks his lucky stars that Hamilton has not forced him into a life of calling one  _ Mr Fluffington  _ out from underneath his coffee table. Burr’s house is full of expensive furniture and things made of glass, and it is most definitely not cat-proof. 

 

Hamilton is possibly a criminal mastermind, and Burr wonders if he’s Hamilton’s next target. 

 

Juliet and Burr face down in the kitchen, the both of them having a silent argument about whether Burr would finally get her to eat the cat food he puts out, or if she’ll once again guilt him into feeding her beef from his fridge. The problem is, of course, is that Juliet has big round eyes and looks so fucking cute even when she’s clawing the shit out of his carpet. He doesn’t hate her for it, but he is bitter that she manages to be so adorable all the time and he is so weak. 

 

Hamilton, having long since conned Burr out of a key to his apartment, arrives with his hands behind his back and an insufferable grin. 

 

“If this is another fucking live animal I am going to feed you to it,” Burr tells him seriously, because Juliet still won’t eat her nutritional wet cat food the vet recommended, and he can’t handle another cat. It’s been six months and this bitch still won’t accept he’s the man of the house. 

“Uh, no,” Hamilton says, and awkwardly puts the Chinese food he’d been hiding on the kitchen table. 

“Oh, uh. Okay.”    
“Okay.” 

“Thanks for the, uh, dinner,” Burr says, and he really is grateful. He would have forgotten to make dinner until 10pm if Hamilton hadn’t come, and all he has in his kitchen right now is pasta leftovers. (Pasta makes him crave wine, and avoiding that is what makes Burr especially grateful.) 

 

He busies himself with taking plates and glasses and cutlery out of the cupboards, insisting that Hamilton eat take-out from real plates for what feels like the millionth time. It’s only after he finishes setting the table that he realises Hamilton’s convinced Juliet to eat from her bowl. 

 

“What the  _ fuck?  _ You’ve turned my  _ cat  _ against me, now?” 

“And all your cacti, and your pot plants, and Hobbes.” 

“You can’t turn my plants against me, they’re  _ plants.”  _

“Wait until they kill you in your sleep, Burr. Just you wait.”

“This  _ is  _ a secret evil plan to kill me!” Burr drawls, but Hamilton seems to catch the glimmer of truth in his words. 

 

“I am  _ not  _ trying to kill you, Burr,” Hamilton says, and he slowly stands up and makes his way around the table until he’s standing right next to Burr. Burr’s holding his breath, not sure what’s about to happen. “I’m trying to ask you out, Burr. I want to go on a date with you.”

 

“Oh,” Burr says, and he wonders if this whole cat-thing has been an evil plot from Hamilton to get into Burr’s pants. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Hamilton echoes, his hopeful expression deflating slightly. 

“I – Hamilton, I’m an alcoholic, I can barely take care of myself most days, I’m unreliable and flaky and self absorbed, and –” 

“You managed to take care of the plants, and Juliet, and you’ve been sober for two years, Burr.”

“Eighteen months.”

Hamilton waves his hand, “Same fucking difference.” 

“No it’s n–”

“The point  _ is,”  _ Hamilton cuts in, “Is that you’re being stupid and I’m smart, as always. We’d be good together. We are good friends, and both clearly  _ very  _ attractive. You can’t keep hiding behind casual sex and this  _ woe is me  _ schtick. Just fucking  _ date me,  _ Burr.” 

 

“I… Okay. One date, and I’ll see how it goes.” 

 

Hamilton grins and leans in, trying to kiss him, but Burr swerves out of the way. 

“No making out in front of  _ my baby,”  _ he says, horrified, and Hamilton looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

 

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, “I cockblocked  _ myself.”  _


End file.
